All in the Name
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: When Clint turns 16 he finds out the name of his soulmate, but life is rarely as simple as a name on the wrist. Clint x Pietro


**All in the Name  
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 **Notes:** Character death.

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When he turns 16, Clint wakes up to find a Name scrawled across the inside of his left wrist.

He panics, because he's 16 and Barney is still the entirety of his world. He's heard more than enough from his brother about people with Names on the wrong hand over the years to think this is something his brother will take easily. Barney's been getting distant lately, and Clint doesn't want this to be the thing that leaves him truly alone in the world.

Clint's quiet and slow, despite his panic, as he creeps out of his cot in the shitty tent that had nearly collapsed the last time a storm blew through. Careful not to wake anyone else as he sneaks past his brother and out into the still early day. Only the slight lightening of the sky giving him something to see by as he makes his way to the edge of the grounds they've been given to set up on. There's a pile of brick and broken concrete from some building. Torn down and forgotten long enough for weeds to start growing between them.

It's always been a possibility that Clint's Name would be on his left hand, and he's prepared for it.

He finds the plastic bag he stored under a few bricks easily, and the sky is even lighter as he pulls on the soft band he uses in practice to cover the sharp angles of the slanted Name he doesn't dare examine just yet. There's another one for his right wrist that he sets aside as he pulls out the pen.

It's henna ink from a store Clint had cased out in the last town they were at. A dark ink that stains his skin convincingly enough as he adroitly writes out the name he's been secretly practicing for months now as his birthday loomed closer. Stacy Miller. A generic enough name that Clint won't have to worry too much over.

He blows on the ink until it dries, and then goes over it again carefully. Making sure the name stains darkly before pocketing the other band, and hiding the pen once more. He creeps back into the tent before anyone can wake up and lies back down.

Right hand with its fake name pressed tight over his wildly beating heart. The left, with his soulmate's true Name, clutches at the edge of the cot he's on until Clint hears the first creaking of the morning as someone gets up.

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Pietro doesn't even realize it's their 16th birthday until he wakes up to Wanda's confused face. His sister sits on the edge of the sagging bed they share and frowns down at her right wrist. "Wanda?"

"It's my Name," she says and Pietro is confused at first until the way she's holding hand up makes sense. The rush of fear is sudden and all consuming as he sits up to look. "It's odd."

Dread curls around Pietro as he thinks about his sister having a soulmate. Someone who could come and take her away from him legally, and there wouldn't be a single thing Pietro could do to keep her if the other man didn't want Wanda's twin brother in his household. All because his Name is on her skin.

The Name on Wanda's wrist is odd though, and dread of a different kind begins to curl in him.

"Viss- Visson?" Pietro reaches out to trace the perfectly straight lines of the single Name in the air. It looks more like a word than a name. It certainly isn't any kind of name that he's familiar with. "Vesin?"

"It's weird," Wanda repeats and there's that same dread Pietro feels when he looks at her. "Pietro, what if he's a foreigner? I don't want to leave you!"

"You won't leave me," Pietro reaches up to lace his fingers through hers. Ignoring the Name on her wrist for the moment, because it doesn't matter. Soulmate or not he will _never_ allow anyone to take his sister away from him. "I won't ever allow that."

Wanda smiles. It's fragile, but brave as she pushes on despite the very real fear she still has of being owned by someone. Her eyes track back to their hands and then widen once more. "Pietro, your Name."

Startled, Pietro looks away. He hadn't even thought about his own Name in the moments since he saw Wanda's. His eyes drop to his right hand automatically, but the skin there is clean and unmarked. Slowly he lets his eyes track back up to their hands. Wanda's fingers are curled tight through his, her knuckles almost white as she turns their hands around enough for him to see the curl of black on his left wrist.

The name is slanted left, and the letters are round. It's another foreign name, one that looks English somehow. Pietro doesn't bother trying to pronounce it as the name -clear and damning in its positioning- spells out another difficulty for them to face.

Wanda launches herself up and out of the bed. Her bare feet dance soundlessly over the old wooden floor as she goes to their collection of clothing. Fewer now than last week. The fighting had taken out the home they were staying in, forcing them to run without taking too much or risk getting caught in the crossfire.

When she comes back it's with an armful of cloth and a pair of scissors. The shirt is one of her favorites, but she doesn't hesitate to cut off the sleeves. Working almost feverishly until she has two wide bands of the fake leather that she pokes a series of holes in. They wrap snugly around his wrists when he holds his hands out, a bit of blue thread lacing them shut so there's no hint of a Name to be seen.

There's even enough for Wanda to fashion a matching set for herself with red thread.

"There! Problem solved," Wanda smiles forcefully but Pietro can't bring himself to return it even though he wants desperately to make the fear in her eyes go away.

Her fingers pinch desperately at his own when she joins their hands together again. Both of them trying hard not to think about the last boy they'd known with a Name on his left wrist. About the way he'd just disappeared one night, and the satisfied air of the men the next day as they congratulated each other on a job well done.

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Clint's 25 when he stops using henna ink and lets the fake name fade away. He's got scars that run deeper than the ink that lightens slowly over the course of a week until there's nothing left. Scars that make the whole charade of hiding his Name meaningless, but Clint stubbornly keeps it covered anyway. Not out of fear, but out of a jealous kind of possessiveness.

It's his Name and no one else's.

The Name is scrawled to the right pretty crazily. So slanted that it's almost a line. It'd taken Clint a while to even begin to pick the individual letters out of it. Something he'd done furtively while still with the circus, and more boldly afterwards.

SHIELD had required a picture of it, and Clint had almost blown them off then and there. Except that getting sent to prison wouldn't have been any better of a deal.

The suit that had recruited him didn't bat an eye when Clint gave up his left hand for the picture. Hadn't even made a big deal of it other than to ask if Clint knew his Name, and if he wanted SHIELD to find him. He'd noted Clint's refusal with the same politely disinterested face that Clint's learned is Coulson's default mode.

SHIELD's not a bad gig all things told. Clint's still doing the same kind of job he was doing as a freelancer, except the pay is steady and the back up is fantastic. He rarely goes into anything blind anymore, and the few times shit hits the fan he's got a team on the ground and running to help him in minutes. Seconds if he's being handled by Coulson. The medical is fantastic too. When Clint can be tied down long enough to stay cooped up in some starchy sickbed.

They're also all about second chances. Especially if it brings them a really great asset as Clint finds out when they eventually accept that he really did convince the Black Widow to switch allegiances with a speech about their dental coverage.

His Name comes up negatively exactly once in his career.

It's a newbie who does it too so it doesn't exactly count. Just some rough and full of himself meathead from the Marines who didn't like that Clint showed him up on the range in training as was his usual role in breaking the new meat in.

Clint's Name hadn't even been showing, but the bare skin on his right wrist had been enough to get his jaw flapping when Clint stepped away to talk to the agents acting as observers. He hadn't even really had the chance to turn around before the man was on the ground and groaning.

"SHIELD has a zero tolerance policy," Coulson had said with a flinty smile that didn't even touch the anger banked deep in his eyes as he walked away from the bleeding man. Pen already flying over a clipboard as he fixed his gaze on the other newbies. Giving them the first taste of why Coulson in particular was feared through the whole organization. "For anything stupid. I suggest you all brush up on the regs before continuing."

It hadn't been a suggestion, and there's still whispers of that day circulating in the lower ranks.

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Pietro's 25 and he hasn't had to worry about his Name or Wanda's in over a year.

The experiments had been excruciating, and the aftermath even worse in a way as Pietro's entire body had felt like it was tearing itself apart. Days when he couldn't take a single step without fearing he would crash into the wall hard enough to break bones. When he would spend weeks in an agonized state of suffering only to realize a single minute had passed.

He'd been afraid the first time he woke and found the bracer around his hands gone, but the scientists hadn't mentioned anything. Hadn't looked at him any differently for the black going across his left wrist than they did any of the others that had volunteered. He rips his clothing to make a new one anyway.

Why would it matter to them after all? They were things to be used, and Pietro had known a little despair then. A little anger that he'd let himself be tricked into this. All the honeyed words Strucker had uttered just to get himself some test subjects.

They'd danced so well to his tune, and Pietro watched in rage as the number of people dropped. The only thing keeping him going some days the quiet knowledge that the cell next to his was still occupied. Something that had barely been enough until one day he jolted away.

Curious fingers combing through his mind that he didn't fight. Only welcomed with a quiet joy because no matter what he would always recognize his sister.

 _Patience_ , she whispers in his mind and it eases the rest of his fears.

He feels her then. Every day and just that alone focuses him like nothing else has. He begins to learn how to control it. Control the speed that seems to live in him. A twisting and impatient thing that tries to wrest control from him every day. Controlling his movements and the way he perceives time.

 _You can master it._ Wanda's silent support pushes him on, and her delight as she masters her own gifts is reward enough to make him push until he can move from one side of the cell to the other without hurting himself. Going back and forth at a speed that pleases the scientists. Moving until something in the door breaks and they're both allowed out.

Wanda is a pale slip of what she was, but there's power in her eyes when her fingers lace through his. Her mind a solid presence that's kept him sane. _I have a plan._

They don't listen to Strucker's plans and boasting. Only nod their heads when prompted and keep their silent council as they plan how best to use the resources around them. How to turn this war baron's gifts to their own ends instead of his.

Their Names are a darker mark than usual on their skin, but, for once, they don't give them a single thought. The possibility of revenge is far too sweet.

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Clint's 38 when he finds who his Name belongs to.

Maria doesn't look him in the eye when she delivers that particular debrief, and Clint has to be pushed back down into the bed by Nat when he tries to sit up. The pain lingers with the weakness even though his side is practically healed.

"And how long've you known that?" Clint asks when he gets enough air in to talk.

"We were rather busy at the time with a Hydar infestation," any guilt the woman might have felt is already gone and she meets his gaze squarely. "You declined to have us interfere in your search."

"Yeah, well I'd think my declining wouldn't matter the minute it became clear my soulmate was going to be one of the _enemies_ I might have to fight," Clint bites out and Nat's fingers press only a little into him in warning. She's distracted, but agrees with him. "Fuck. My soulmate tried to kill me."

Which is kind of par for the course of Clint's life.

He doesn't get good things handed to him easily like most people do. So why should his soulmate be some easy thing like all the romance stories out there say it is? Just because they've got each other's names across their wrists doesn't mean they'll get any sort of happy ending. Hell, just liking each other isn't a guarantee these days. Clint's seen more than one pair of soulmates who didn't live up to the high expectations of their bond.

It's a bucket of cold ice over his anger to think that, and Clint doesn't let his eyes drop to Maria's right hand. To the scarred skin where Sitwell's name had been for as long as he'd known her.

There's no sympathy in Maria's hard eyes. Not for him and not for herself. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"No," the answer feels like it's being dragged out of him. A part of him resisting the implications even while the rest of him accepts it. Accepts the fact that he's going to have to hunt down and kill his own soulmate. "That won't be a problem at all."

There's respect in Maria's nod, and gentleness in Nat's hand when she helps him sit up. It feels like a part of Clint is dying under the truth of his own unspoken promise.

Nothing new for him. It won't be the first time Clint's had to kill someone he was supposed to love for the greater good after all.

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Wanda's fingers are sharp when she wakes. Gasping and clutching for him hard enough that Pietro moves across the hold of the plane without thought to keep her from falling from the crates she was laying on. "Sister? What is it?"

"I'm sorry," Wanda says, her voice low and almost lost below the hum of the engines being directed by Ultron. Too low to wake the woman he had gone to great lengths to find for the next step in his plan. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," Pietro gathers her up and sits down so that she's leaning against him. Her shoulders shake and he realizes she's crying. There's guilt, thick and poisonous, in her mind when he reaches out to her. "Wanda, stop it. There's no reason-"

"I found your soulmate," Wanda says in one long breath, and the guilt grows as she mentally shrinks from his surprise. It hurts, the flinch from him as if she's expecting him to be angry with her.

"When?" Pietro holds her closer, and projects his love as strongly as he can. His total unconcern with whatever it is she thinks she's done. It doesn't matter. His soulmate is a stranger but Wanda is his sister. He will never be able to hate her. "Who was it?"

"The archer," Wanda breathes, and relaxes. Guilt still tinging her thoughts but with a stubborn protectiveness that warms Pietro. "The Avenger, Hawkeye. He's your soulmate."

Why she did not say anything three days ago after their last encounter doesn't need to be explained any further. Pietro can follow the reasoning clearly enough as it stands now. An Avenger is his soulmate. One of Stark's people. Pietro sneers and doesn't begrudge his sister for her omission at all. The only thing greater than his need to protect his sister is her need to protect him after all.

"Then obviously I'm not missing out on anything," Pietro assures her, and can feel it as Wanda relaxes fully. Relief taking away most of the guilt. There's sorrow there now. Sorrow for the sorry circumstances that will be the future, but Pietro can't find it in him to be sorry in the least. His soulmate is on Stark's side. There is no reason to mourn his coming death. "It's fine. Everything is fine."

"Yes," Wanda says with quiet conviction. "It will all be fine. Soon."

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Of course, it's his life, and Clint's life isn't just complicated. No, it can't ever be that fucking simple.

He's off his stride and he feels the space Nat should be occupying like a lost limb. Not because she's gone, because they're very functional without each other, but because he knows why she's gone. As capable as she is of taking care of herself and everyone else, Clint will never not freak a little out when he knows she's being held by someone.

"Ok, so why are we taking _them_ with us?" Clint asks as he follows Steve onto the jet. The twins linger behind, talking in low voices. Their words too disjointed for even Clint to hear and he's got a decent enough grasp of their native tongue to know it's not the language barrier getting in the way.

"Because we need all the hands we can get," Steve glances back at the two before turning to the cockpit to start the takeoff sequence. "They turned on Ultron, that's all I need to know about them."

Clint's not convinced. That cut and dry outlook on life doesn't ever actually work. Especially not when it come to Hydra. Willing or not Clint's not going to take their change of hearts so easily. He doesn't voice any of that though. Steve's smart enough to already know it, and isn't as naive as people like to think. They do need the extra help, and it's always easiest to keep any eye on someone right next to you than when they're far away.

He assess them both critically when they climb aboard. The hatch shutting behind them as the others settle in. They stick close and Pietro uses his whole body like a shield. Keeping himself between them all and her. No. Clint narrows his eyes. He's keeping himself solidly between Wanda and the Vision. Whom Wanda is staring at fixedly as she runs fingers over her covered right wrist.

Interesting. Clint wonders if anyone had thought to check the android for a Name, but it doesn't really matter. There's no time at all for this kind of bullshit. Not with Ultron trying to destroy the world.

Clint reminds himself of that when he catches Pietro staring at him. Eyes looking fixedly at Clint's left hand in a way that makes it clear he already knows what's there.

There's no time for this, at all.

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Hope is a strange thing, and Pietro hadn't even realized he'd lost it until he sees the evacuation going on. Sees the people -SHIELD- coming in with no other goal than to save. It makes the conversation Wanda had shared with him mean even more.

Clint's face had been haggard when he spoke to her. Easing the fears Pietro had only just begun to feel coming from her with a natural honesty that had touched her. The sincerity enough to touch Pietro too. Making him falter and skid a little as he felt, for the first time, that maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe the Name on his wrist was right, maybe this man was meant to be it for him.

"No one would know," the mutter follows him as he leaves with Wanda. The gruff growl drips with irritation and it makes Pietro grin into Wanda's hair. Her amusement reaches out to him, and there's a little bit of quiet happiness radiating from her when he sets her down again.

She shares his slight wonder and hope, but there's no time for it. There's still people in the city, and Pietro puts his speed to use. Doing something that actually feels as good as he thinks it is.

When he sees the bullets flying, when he sees Clint in the line of fire, Pietro doesn't hesitate to do what has to be done. He doesn't hesitate and he doesn't regret it even when the pain steals the strength from his legs, and the light from his eyes.

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When he turns 38, the Name on Clint's left wrist burns away.

He feels it as he watches the light fade from a pair of vivid blue eyes. A smirk and smartass comment the last thing his soulmate says to him before dying.

Clint collapses on the seats of the quinjet. Pain and exhaustion pulling him down as he stares at the body below him. Blood stains the man's clothing, and his eyes are a dull gray now. The sleeves are torn and Clint can make out the first three letters of his own name on Pietro's left wrist. He reaches down with his left hand to touch it, but there's nothing to feel but cool skin and a sharp ache in his chest.

Pietro Maximoff. His soulmate, Hydra experiment, and hero. A stranger in the end because the world doesn't stop when soulmates meet, it keeps grinding on.

"I did see that coming," Clint tells himself because there's no one there to hear him. He pulls his hand away and looks at the scarred skin, red and painful to the touch, on his left wrist where a Name used to be.

He feels empty inside, cheated, but he's not surprised. Clint's life has always been defined more by loss than gain, and he knew that even this would not be easy or simple.

Not for him.

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End file.
